


The Future's So Bright

by trillian_jdc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Christmas Miracles, Drunkenness, Even when he's only in the story as a plot device, First Kiss, Holmes Brothers, M/M, Mistletoe, Mystrade Monday, Or Maybe Just Christmas Coincidences, Sherlock causing trouble, holiday party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28081365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc
Summary: A young Mycroft Holmes gets help from a handsome police officer when he's trying to find Sherlock after drinking too much at the office holiday party.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56
Collections: Mystrade Holiday 2020





	The Future's So Bright

Mycroft was panicking. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and he didn't like it. But there didn't seem to be much else he could do right now. He was trapped in this train station, waiting for a way to get to Cambridge. And he'd had much too much to drink tonight. 

Come to the party, his co-workers had said. The bosses do it up right for the holidays, he was told. And so he went. And drank what they handed him. It was his first job out of university, and although he hated sales, he seemed to be good at it. After three years, he was out-earning everyone on commission, and his customers for the financial programs were highly satisfied. It was the other employees he was still trying to get along with. 

The goal tonight had been to seem more normal. Until Sherlock interfered. Again. Even when he wasn't trying, he was trying. 

When Mycroft had gotten the page, he rushed to find a phone. They'd been trying to reach him for hours, they said. (Not likely. But staff was always overdramatic and rushed at the holidays.) They had to pass through a message from a policeman! Was Mycroft that kind of person? (He knew they'd been looking for something to mark him with, some gossip to keep the less-compensated satisfied.) They weren't his answering service, and if he could keep the family issues to himself, that'd be lovely, ta. He hung up at that point.

He'd apologize next week, with chocolates and flowers. Everyone had something they wanted that they could be cosseted with. And his head was spinning too much to force the politeness now. 

At least he'd finally gotten a hospital name and "Sherlock" out of them. Of course. Now to figure out how to get there. He could strategize what he would do when he arrived on the trip down. If he could keep his eyes open. Long enough to get on the train. 

He moved woozily towards the right platform. He hoped it was the right platform. He didn't even notice the constable he bumped into until he was pressed up to his back. He smelled divine, sweet and musky. Mycroft pushed his nose closer into the neck of the man in front of him.

"Oi, there, mate." A handsome young man in uniform spun around. Mycroft leaned back and nearly tipped over, overbalanced by the laptop bag hanging from one shoulder, before the policeman caught him by his arms and straightened him up. 

"Thank you, officer. You're a credit to the service." Mycroft smiled blearily at him. 

"You've had a bit too much there. Heading home?" With his hands still on the young businessman, the dark-haired officer tossed his head to clear a too-long lock of dark brown hair from his eyes. 

"Unfortunately not. A family emergency. In Cambridge." Mycroft seemed to have forgotten how to make sentences. Concentrating on remembering the glorious sight before him was taking up all his processing. 

"You're on the wrong side. C'mon, I'll get you sorted." The man let him go, at which point Mycroft focused on staying upright. 

"Thank you kindly, sir." 

"Don't sir me. Name's Greg." 

"Thank you kindly, Greg." Mycroft docilely followed the man up and around to the other platform until the policeman pointed at a bench. 

"Sit there, alright?" 

Mycroft sat. This was calming. Much better than worrying. Greg seemed to know just what he needed. Mycroft's eyes began to close. 

"Hey, mate, you sure you're ok?" 

Mycroft frowned and opened his eyes. "When is the train for Cambridge?" 

"Ten minutes. Can you stay awake for ten minutes? And is someone meeting you there?" 

"I'll be fine." Mycroft straightened up and gathered his sense of authority around him. The same air that gave people confidence in giving him hundreds of thousands of pounds to invest should be able to reassure this young man. Even if Mycroft suspected that tipping over would mean his hands on his person again. That would be nice. But his brother needed him. Even if he wouldn't admit it. Damn. Mycroft sobered himself up and smiled his professional expression of reassurance. 

"Really, Greg, I appreciate your concern, but there's no need for me to distract you from your duties any further." 

Greg seemed dubious. "If you say so. Look, if you miss the train, you'll be stuck. Here, take my desk number. I'm heading back there for shift change in a half-hour if something happens." Greg shoved a grubby scrap of paper at him with some numbers on it. 

Mycroft took it, folded it, and placed it in the outer pocket of his bag. "You're much too kind, Greg. Do you treat all the late-night business travelers who've overindulged so considerately?" 

Greg looked down and away. "Nah. But it's almost Christmas, innit? Maybe I need some help getting off of Santa's naughty list." 

The train had pulled in, or Mycroft would have had any number of responses to the idea of Officer Greg being naughty. He snapped his lips shut and stood up, swaying only slightly. "I believe that's my train." He held out a gloved hand. "Thank you. You may have saved more than one life tonight." 

Greg shook his hand and smiled, which dazzled Mycroft. "Think nothing of it. Now get yourself settled, and safe journey."

* * *

Mycroft couldn't believe it. He never lost anything. But the scrap of paper with the lovely constable's number on it had disappeared. He'd finally gotten back to London after days of having to alternately argue and soothe anyone left in Sherlock's wake. 

His brother seemed on a more even keel, now that he'd gotten everything he wanted, and Mycroft had managed to keep his job by bribing his supervisor with a commission cut. He really needed to find a better profession, perhaps one where it would be easier to keep an eye on his brother. But in the meantime, he was tolerating another sales conference, one where he could provide perceived expertise during the firm's presentation. Then the other salespeople could wine and dine and charm the customers into parting with their funds and get the credit. He really need a job where going to clubs wasn't considered part of the workday. 

Mycroft propped himself in a corner of the bar, swirling a glass of scotch, counting down the minutes until he could leave without anyone noticing. He estimated another fifteen minutes until everyone was sufficiently drunk. 

He knew his brother had followed him back to town. And he knew nothing good would come from Sherlock sharing a class with the boss' son. But he hadn't expected Sherlock to stage the takedown of the head of the financial firm, due to an insider trading scheme, tonight. He'd have to adjust his job-hunting timeline. 

Mycroft sat in the semi-darkness, watching the drama as various people yelled at each other and the volume kept ramping up, Sherlock swirling through the room and dropping well-chosen verbal grenades every time things threatened to calm down. Mycroft wondered if Sherlock would ever grow out of his taste for drama. 

Finally, the bartender called for reinforcements, and security began separating the participants. Mycroft took the last sip of his drink, ice cubes clinking, and set the glass down firmly. He prepared to sneak out around the edge of the room. He was looking behind himself, making sure his presence and departure was unnoticed, and almost making it to the doorway, when he ran into a firm shoulder. 

His "oof!" was answered by a growled "Where do you think you're going?" until both men turned and faced each other. Neither could help the smiles that crossed their faces. 

"Well, seems you made it back safely," said Greg. "Although we have to stop meeting like this." 

"I suppose I can't prevail upon you to forget I was here?" asked Mycroft. 

"Nah, mate, why would I want to do that? Although I told myself I'd remember to ask for your name if we ever stumbled across each other again." 

"It's Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes. And the reason you're here, I presume, is my brother." 

"I was told to apprehend a high-powered con artist before he slipped the country. You related to the swindler, then?" 

"No, my brother is the one who revealed the chicanery. He fancies himself something of a crime-fighter without portfolio." 

"Hunh. Could be useful. Could be a mess. Wanna introduce us?" 

"Not on your life, officer. You've been too kind to me for me to foist him upon you." Mycroft grimaced. "Although if you insist, I'll point him in your direction during daylight hours." 

"Any port in a storm, any help we can get." Greg paused. "You're looking better than last time. Learned your lesson, did you?" He winked. 

Mycroft gave him a slow, Cheshire cat grin. "Needed my wits about me to avoid the destruction of the firm. Or perhaps to assist in it. How did you think my brother knew where they'd be?" 

"Oi, look at you! Manipulative puppet master. Pulling strings." 

"That's not all I'd like to pull." Mycroft reached out and touched Greg's arm, looking down at his hand as he asked, "How much longer are you on duty, Greg?" 

Greg's hand touched the back of his. "Turns out my shift just finished." Mycroft looked up just in time to see Greg glance up and away. "And will you look at that? Someone's hung mistletoe in this doorway." 

Deep brown eyes looked into his, and the two men moved closer to each other. The first kiss was gentle, with a hint of promise. They broke, smiling, and Mycroft took Greg's arm, steering him out the door. "We'd better move along, then," he said. "Before my brother decides to make more trouble."

* * *

Sherlock noticed the two men sneaking away from the brawl the bar had become. He hoped his brother appreciated his Christmas present. When he'd found the police card in Mycroft's bag, he'd realized that the man who'd gifted it could be of great use to both of them. In very different ways, of course. He estimated he'd be able to rub his role in the introduction in Mycroft's face after New Year's. The two ought to have finished celebrating by then. And he got the holiday he wanted, one with crime and free of big brother's meddling. Happy Christmas indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my favorite Fountains of Wayne song, "[Bright Future in Sales](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d639SjYUX30)". Although the title's from a [song from a different decade](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8qrriKcwvlY).


End file.
